


5 Secrets Steve Rogers Learns About Natasha Stark + 1 Secret She Learns About Him

by stonyindustries (kissmyassteroids)



Series: 3490 Fest (2019) [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel 3490
Genre: 3490 Fest (2019), 5+1 Things, Earth-3490, F/M, Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Oblivious Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmyassteroids/pseuds/stonyindustries
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin





	5 Secrets Steve Rogers Learns About Natasha Stark + 1 Secret She Learns About Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/gifts).



> Part of the 3490 Fest gift exchange.  
> I hope it's what you were looking for!  
> Thank you to the wonderful @fanfictiongreenirises for beta, any remaining mistakes are completely my own :)

1\. She never learned to ride a bike 

The silence in the garage seems to reverberate as everyone stares at Tasha. She stares back at them and Steve can see her shrink back; it’s minuscule, but still, he notices. He tries to ignore the fact that the reason he notices is not, in fact, down to his naturally acute observational skills, but rather something with a bit more personal motivation. 

Oh well. 

As he and the other Avengers stare, Tasha shifts where she stands next to the gleaming hot rod red motorcycle, and he winces internally at how uncomfortable they were probably making her. 

Way to charm your crush, Rogers. 

He tries to relax and shrugs, turning around to fiddle with his own bike, trying desperately to come up with something to say to put her at ease. Unfortunately, Clint beats him to the punch. 

“The great Natasha Stark doesn’t know how to ride a bike? Like, a regular ass two wheel bike?” 

Natasha huffs and glares at him, shoulders hunched in slightly. 

“It’s not that I don’t know how to ride a bike – I just never have.” 

Clint just looks at her and raises an eyebrow. 

“Alright, genius, billionaire, philanthropist, whatever; suit yourself.” 

Steve can see Tasha’s eyes flash defensively and steps between them. 

“Hey, no one,” he pauses to glare at Clint, “is judging you. At all. We’re all a bit surprised is all. But really, none of us care.” 

Wait. 

“Wait. I don’t mean we don’t care, I just mean that it’s fine, obviously, that you can’t – or, that you’ve never ridden a normal bike.” 

Tasha just stares at him, eyes slightly narrowed as she probably figures out whether he’s being sincere or not. 

Steve tries not to fidget. 

“Right, yeah, I don’t care anyway,” she mutters as she turns to fiddle with her own bike. 

Everyone looks at each other, awkward and unsure until silence’s reign ends as they begin to shuffle into the elevator and murmur to each other, each visibly trying not to look back and stare. 

Even as the doors slide shut, Steve can still practically reach out and push at the tension. He lingers as he tries to think of some way to make Natasha feel better, hating to leave things like this, and eventually blurts out the best thing he can think of. 

“I can teach you.” 

Natasha stops and turns slowly, frowning up at him. 

Steve tries not to notice how attractive every expression seems to be on her. 

“What?” 

“I could teach you,” Steve repeats, “you know, to ride a bike.” 

In the silence that follows, Steve realises how stupid he must sound. For god’s sake, this is Natasha Stark; she revolutionises the world practically daily – she doesn’t need him to ride a goddamn bike; hell, she doesn’t need to ride a bike, period. 

What the hell was he thinking. 

“I’m sorry, that was– stupid. I just thought, well, you don’t know and–” He stops, mentally kicking himself with each word. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you.” 

He turns to go and is almost at the elevator so he can go lick his wounds in private when Natasha calls out. 

“Actually, that’d be nice.” 

He looks back and she’s smiling; it’s small and slightly lopsided, but it’s there and he helped put it there. He feels his embarrassment fade slightly. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

It’s not quite a date, but he still counts it as a win. 

2\. Her first kiss was with Janet Van Dyne 

It’s after they’ve spent the afternoon racing each other through the park on cheap bikes that Tasha rented that they find themselves sitting round a wobbly wooden table in some poky bar, joined by Jan and Sharon. The smell of beer permeates the walls and everyone’s lax and loose after several shots have been downed. 

Natasha has her arm hooked around Jan’s shoulders and he tries his best to firmly curb the jealousy crawling up his throat. He’s here with Sharon after all and suspects this might be the latest in Tasha’s attempts to get him laid, which she insists is vital to his acclimatisation to the 21st century. Hence, a cleverly arranged double date; not badly done, he must admit. 

“Alright,” Tasha announces, lifting another shot, “truth or dare!” 

Sharon and Jan cheer and he smiles, preparing himself for whatever drunk shenanigans await. 

“Steve, Captain, Spangles, mi amore; the million dollar question: truth,” she leans across the table and points her glass at him, “or dare.” 

Steve smiles indulgently and weighs up his choice. Drinking games – especially those involving Natasha – he has learned, are not something to be taken lightly. “Truth,” he responds, deciding it the somewhat safer option. 

She frowns at him, apparently struggling to think through whatever they’re drunk on, and after several moments of silence, announces, “Who-” hic “was your first kiss?” 

Steve smiles, amused. He’s learned that drunk Natasha is either shop talk at a million miles an hour or a 14 year old at a sleepover. Tonight is apparently the latter. 

“Everyone knows it was Peggy, Tash.” 

“But do we really know? You and Barnes weren’t unloading your guns, if you know what I mean.” 

Steve snorts at the terrible innuendo and the equally terrible eyebrow wiggle Tasha follows it up with. “Bucky was my brother; we were definitely not unloading any metaphorical guns.” 

“Mhhmmmm, okay Rogers.” 

He laughs and Sharon nudges him playfully. 

“Come on, Rogers, we’re your friends,” she teases, “you can tell us anything, we won’t blab. Spy’s honour.” 

“Spy’s honour, huh?” he inquires. 

Sharon nods solemnly. 

“Well,” he starts, and the three women lean in closer, eyes eager. 

“Spy’s honour doesn’t change the truth. Peggy is still my first kiss.” 

The other three groan and roll their eyes, Sharon slapping his arm lightly. 

“You’re terrible,” Tasha sighs, looking forlorn but quickly recovering. 

“Now ask me a truth.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense but alright. What about you? Who was your first kiss?” 

At that Jan grins and scoots closer to Tasha. 

“That would be this lovely lady beside me.” 

Steve feels his eyebrows climb and that little green monster claw it’s way further up his throat. 

“Jan?!” he exclaims and immediately winces at how incredulous he sounds. 

“No offence.” 

She grins slyly and tips her glass at him. 

“None taken, Boy Scout.” 

Natasha swirls the contents of her glass and stares at it thoughtfully. 

“You didn’t know?” 

Steve shakes his head in what he hopes is a nonchalant manner. 

“Mmm, dear old homophobic dad paid to have the whole thing covered up, so makes sense that you don’t know.” 

She frowns at the contents of her glass, before perking right back up again. 

“Anyway! Sharon, darling, truth or dare?” 

They go around like that for well over an hour, almost getting kicked out when Sharon dares Jan to give out fashion advice to three random strangers, and Jan gets way too enthusiastic about it, ending up insulting some guy’s shirt that apparently is worth enough to him to get into a fight over. He only backs down once Steve wanders over and stands firmly between him and Jan, who’s clearly enjoying herself. 

After that, they stick more to truth questions. 

“Tasha,” Jan asks, eyes gleaming, “what is your deepest, darkest teenage fantasy?” 

Tasha snorts and gestures to him. 

“Him, that. Just-” She continues wave her arm up and down in his direction. “That. He’s Captain America. Steve, you’re Captain America, I bet even you want to tap that. I mean, that’s Captain America.” 

Steve blinks, trying to process. “You wanted- me?” 

“Wanted. Why the hell would that change? It’s Captain America! Seriously, if you asked, I would, really Rogers, you are a fine, fine specimen. Like, really, fine-“ 

Sharon snorts and rolls her eyes. 

“We get it Tash, you’re in love with Rogers.” 

Steve tries not to choke on his pretzel. 

3\. She was in love with Rhodey for precisely one week 

“Afternoon, Steve.” 

Steve glances up as James Rhodes walks through the doors and settles himself at the island. 

“Afternoon, Colonel.” 

Rhodes wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Seriously man, call me James. I don’t know what to do with Captain America calling me ‘colonel’.” 

Steve smiles, but before he can respond Natasha, saunters in through the door and brightens at the sight of the two of them. 

“My two favourite men! Rhodey Bear!” She pecks him on the cheek and Steve tries not to take it personally when all he gets is a friendly squeeze on the arm. 

“Steve! I wanted to talk to you.” 

Steve frowns and tries to quell the butterflies in his stomach as he glances up as casually as he can from making Tasha’s coffee. 

“I have been informed that last night at the bar I may have implied several things of a sexual nature between you and I, and I just wanted to apologise.” 

Steve blinks. And tries not to feel disappointed. 

“I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, that was clearly just the alcohol talking and I’m sorry.” 

Oh. He gives up on trying not to feel disappointed. 

“Yeah, course, course, that’s– yeah.” 

Damn him. 

Natasha doesn’t seem to buy his response and continues on. “You know how it is, right? You’re caught up in the moment and just say stuff with no filter, stuff that you don’t fully mean–” 

Jesus, Steve doesn’t really need this. 

“Of course, Tasha, don’t worry about it; really.” 

She nods, seemingly satisfied until Rhodes pipes up, 

“Hey, Tash, remember our first week of MIT together?” 

He’s looking at Tasha, mischief clear in his eyes. 

“Oh no–” Tasha starts, but Rhodey butts in, turning to Steve. 

“She had a crush on me our first week of MIT together. Honestly, man, you should get her to like you because that was the best and funniest week of my life.” 

“Rhodey, sugar–” 

“She proposed with an onion ring, he continues, expression mock wistful as Tasha pouts next to him. 

“I was a child, Rhodey, I didn’t know better; this is abuse. Rhodey, please, don’t do this!” 

“Apparently she bought out the whole cinema for a date and I had to tell her I was dating Carol. It was very awkward.” 

They banter back and forth like that for some time as Steve stands there and examines his mug of coffee for a way out of the situation. It presents no solution. 

After a while, Natasha just shakes her head in exasperation and grins fondly at Rhodes then turns back to Steve, grin turning slightly lopsided. 

“So, we’re cool right?” 

It takes Steve a moment to respond and when he does, he’ll deny the squeak in his voice till his dying day. 

“Of course, Tasha.” 

“Great, cause it’d suck if I fell out with Captain America, you know?” 

Steve can only nod. 

4\. Not so long ago, she woke up slumped over her desk with no memory of having got there and the worst hangover she cares to remember. Steve found her a few minutes later and carried her to bed, wearing his Sad Disapproving frown the whole time and she hasn’t drank a drop since. 

They’re at the annual Maria Stark Foundation gala and a waiter passes by with delicate flutes of champagne and Steve grabs two, affirming to himself that this will be a great, normal way to start a conversation with Tasha. He stumbles his way through the crowds, feeling slightly awkward delicately clutching the two glasses until he eventually spots her walking toward the balcony and forces himself to calm down. When he falls into step with her, she’s talking with a smartly dressed young man sporting a light blue velvet suit jacket, and next to him, Steve finds it hard to ignore just how much he doesn’t quite fit in here. 

Before that thought tumbles out of control, a short brunet pulls the velvet jacket man away, and Natasha and Steve step out onto the balcony, finally alone together. 

It’s quiet for a few moments before Steve finally holds out the second flute. 

“I grabbed you a drink.” 

He’s just starting to congratulate himself on getting the words out when Natasha responds. 

“Oh, actually I’m off the stuff.” 

Great. 

“Oh really? That’s great! I mean, good for you! I’ll uh,” Steve stares at both glasses in his hands and feels the back of his neck burn. Real smooth, Rogers. 

“I’ll uh–” he tips the contents of each glass down his throat one by one and sets them on the railing of the balcony. 

When he turns back Natasha is smiling at him softly and in that moment he doesn’t care if he looks like an idiot. 

“Yeah,” she continues, “I’ve been trying out the sober thing for a while. Actually since, um, the lab, since– you know.” 

A beat. 

“Thanks for that, by the way.” 

Steve smiles and stands closer as they both look out at the sky and Steve tries not to shiver at the pressure of Tasha’s gaze as it seems to bore straight into his heart. 

5\. Steve has inexplicably, perhaps through fate, become her home. 

Steve’s not sure how it happens. They’re arguing, he knows – their usual song and dance about Natasha’s recklessness in the field and following orders and blah, blah – when Tasha blurts out, 

“I’m fine as long as I’m with you!” 

She looks about as surprised as he feels and he stares at her, waiting – hoping – for something more to follow. 

“I feel safe as long as I’m with you,” she finishes quietly. 

Their respective silences are deafening and Steve steps closer, breathing quick and mouth dry and praying he’s making the right decision. 

+1. Steve suffers from an unfortunate side effect of the serum. 

It’s approaching the end of their first three months together as a couple and seven months together as Avengers when it happens. 

The team are huddled together by a collapsed building, avoiding the hoard of reporters trying to jostle their way past the security tape and police. They’re dirty and tired and injured and Tasha tells herself that’s why none of them notice Steve’s absence sooner. 

Once they do, however, they race off in different directions in search of their missing teammate, after Tasha’s frantic attempts to contact him through comms gets nowhere. 

It’s an agonising ten minutes later that Romanoff finds him, hunched over in an alley and vomiting. Tasha’s there within a minute, scooping him up and flying back to the tower, mind racing and heart thumping. 

Once they get to the tower’s medical bay, the rest of the team not far behind in the jet, Tasha demands JARVIS run whatever tests he can. In less than a minute, she hears his voice through her earpiece. 

“Doctor, I think it would be best if you stepped outside for a moment.” 

Tasha’s heart seizes and for a split second she doubts the reliability of the reactor. She maintains a calm façade, squeezing Steve’s hand, before hurrying out the med bay’s doors. 

“What’s wrong? Poisoning? The serum should take care of anything, I don’t-” 

“Captain Rogers appears to be experiencing a severe migraine.” 

He’s- what? 

“He is displaying sensitivity to light and sound, vomiting, as well as brief hallucinations. Hallucinations are not usually a common symptom; however, regarding Captain Rogers’ unique position, they may be. I have informed the rest of the team, who have an ETA of 1 minute 18 seconds.” 

“Shit.” 

Natasha runs her hands through her hair, trying not to get overwhelmed. 

Goddamn, where’s Bruce when you need him? 

“Fuck, how does he even have a migraine – what about the serum?” 

“My guess would be that Erskine’s serum caused chemical imbalances in the brain, which in turn led to such severe migraines.” 

“How did no one notice this before?” 

Damn Steve and his stubborn ass. 

Once the Quinjet lands, her and Bruce hole themselves up in the med bay and work. They try everything they can think of, and after that, they try everything the internet can throw at them. None of it works. 

Two hours later Natasha slumps into a chair next to Steve’s bed and watches as he drifts in and out of fitful sleep, her own eyes drooping, and suddenly she remembers that she never even showered after their battle. She allows her eyes to close, promising she’ll get straight back at it after a quick nap. 

She wakes up nine hours later, the pain in her neck and back a rude reminder that she’s not in her 20s anymore. When she looks over at Steve’s bed, she’s greeted by clear blue eyes gazing softly at her and the previous day comes rushing back. 

She grunts as she straightens in the chair and fixes her idiot boyfriend with a glare. 

“So, Captain America gets migraines, huh? What the hell, Steve?” 

Steve winces and for a second she worries the migraine hasn’t fully gone. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I should have told you but I didn’t want you to worry. I’m fine now.” 

Even as she shakes her head at him, she pushes off the chair and pulls back the thin sheets, climbing into the bed beside him. 

“So this is a regular thing? How the hell have you kept that from the whole team all this time? We have a literal Russian spy living with us, for god’s sake.” 

Steve at least has the decency to look bashful. 

“We haven’t had that many missions together and it’s not all the time. Usually it doesn’t get that bad either and I can hold out till I get to my floor.” 

“I thought the serum takes care of all that?” 

“Erskine said because of chemical imbalances and heightened senses, they’d come and go a lot.” 

He shrugs. 

“So that’s like your kryptonite?” 

“I understood that reference,” Steve laughs through a yawn. 

They lie there quietly a little longer, curled up together. 

“Well, now you can’t say shit to me when I binge in the lab, Mr I-can-handle-everything-all-by-myself.” 

Steve frowns. 

“Tasha, that’s not good for you–” 

“Fucking hell Steve, neither is sitting by yourself in pain for hours.” 

She rolls over so she’s facing Steve. 

“I’m serious. You should have told me.” 

“I know. I’m sorry,” Steve replies quietly, tucking himself in tighter against her side. 

“I want to help you with this, even if that’s just sitting by the bed.” 

She pauses. 

“I love you, you dummy.” 

She can practically feel Steve grinning at her as he nestles himself under her chin. 

“I love you too, Tasha.”


End file.
